


Evening Entertainment

by Dani Dandelion (rat_insatiable)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rat_insatiable/pseuds/Dani%20Dandelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has a favorite show, worth rushing home to see. So do I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evening Entertainment

She leaves the Sun Fresh at 5:47 PM, goes to stand by the bench for the six o'clock bus to Southtown. Spent a few minutes longer in the store than her last trip three days ago. Must've needed something more than her twice-weekly milk restock.

She shifts the paper bag in her arms. Definitely bought something extra. Might be a bit heavy for those slender secretary arms of hers. Just _had_ to make me curious.

Bus arrives. A five-count as she enters, then I get on, too. She's already paid her fare and taken her seat. Damn, my timing's good.

I swipe my pass and take an aisle seat not quite across from her. She's next to a window, staring at the autumn colors rushing by, grocery bag clutched in her lap. Something plastic rustles in it as the bus lurches forward. Sounds like produce. What's in the bag, babe? You gonna make a smoothie?

I stare at my lap before she can notice me. It's hard with the way her eyelashes look when she's turned three-fourths away. A quick opportunity to look at my phone.

Fifteen minutes until her favorite TV show starts. That's why she gets her after-work errands out of the way so fast on Wednesday evenings. She hurries on Thursdays, too, but that's because she wants plenty of time to herself then. Thursday nights are my favorite, no contest.

The bus stops, and she stands. I swipe my phone's menu screens back and forth a few times, waiting for her red faux-leather boots to hit the steps. Time to go.

She's already walking briskly down the sidewalk as the bus doors close behind me. Shit, did she notice—

A fenced-in dog barks, and she does the most adorable jump-gasp. Oh, right. She's been scared of strange dogs ever since one mauled her when she was three. Her grandma brought that up on her Facebook wall last week. That's probably why she goes to therapy on Tuesdays, but I'm not certain. Never noticed any external scarring.

I wait until her bouncing corkscrew curls are just an auburn fuzz slowly dipping behind the hill, then I make my way around the block.

I enter her neighborhood from the other side. First house on the street has a little old lady living there. She's always outside at this time, doing yard work or repairing something. Today she's raking leaves.

She stares at me as I walk by. I give her a nod and a smile, tell her hello. She never answers. Must be deaf or senile.

I keep a casual pace, pretending to admire the fall colors. The leaves haven't changed much since yesterday, or the day before. I didn't move to this neighborhood to look at the trees.

6:29 PM. Her bedroom light's on, and even with the blinds down and the curtain drawn, I know she's changing into her sweats. She wants to be comfortable when her show starts.

I made my own preparations when I got home a couple minutes ago. My tablet shows the feed from the hidden camera I installed in the left side of her couch—because she always cuddles up on the right. I love it when she does that in just panties and an oversized sweatshirt.

Her show's starting. I can tell by the way she wiggled a little more into the couch cushions, holding a pillow against her chest. Must be a good episode. I'd love to watch it with her.

But for the last two months, I've had something even better. I savor every moment she has to herself. When I can't get to sleep at night, I watch her instead. I don't even need the internet for satisfaction anymore.

Next payday, I can start installing hidden mics, too. Her bedroom's first priority. I never could've imagined having this during those long hours spent torrenting porn in college. But now, I have Thursday nights, watching over my princess's most vulnerable moments.

She thinks she's living life on her own. But she's _my_ evening show.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Write from the point of view of a stalker.


End file.
